A Promise
by Waisk
Summary: This is the story of a team who set out to seek victory...and in return, discovered something quite astonishing about it. Rated T for language.
1. A Promise

Who it started with, no one really knew.

Maybe it was with Tezuka, the moment he decided he _couldn't _quit the tennis team, because he could take it higher than it had ever gone.

Maybe it was Oishi, while diligently doing swing practice, who first dreamed of the possibility—and then dismissed it a moment later with a fervent shake of the head.

Maybe it was Fuji, before he even realized how much tennis meant to him; this idea was a new height, a new challenge, which drove on his quiet passion.

_When you look back on times we had  
>I hope you smile<em>

Regardless, it took root deep into Seigaku, at some time, some place, and a bond extended between each capable enough to earn the telltale blue and white jacket—which spoke of raw endurance, desire, and strength more than any words ever could.

To win Nationals. To become Number One.

This became Seigaku's mutual vision. Nobody would settle for anything less, because they were already ready to give it more than everything they had.

_When you think back on all we've done  
>I hope you're proud<em>

This they promised to themselves, and to each other.

_Remember how we reached that dream together  
>Whenever you remember...<em>

* * *

><p><strong>"Whenever You Remember" lyrics by Carrie Underwood<strong>


	2. Kaidoh Kaoru

Kaidoh Kaoru had a routine.

His alarm was set for five-thirty in the morning. Then ten minutes to get up, throw on some clothes, tie on a bandana, and get himself out the front door.

Then it was a twelve-mile loop from his house, around the park, and back; then off to Seigaku for morning practice, if there was any. If not, then down to the river for swing practice, then eighty crunches on the shore, and planks for as long as he could hold them—plus a minute.

Every single day, except on weekends.

Then the amount was double.

Most of his neighbors had taken note of this training regime, falling into habit at the sight of him, passing underneath their windows at the crack of dawn. Some would shake their heads disbelievingly at his persistence, first to themselves, and then to their friends. Others simply caught a quiet glimpse from their bedroom window, and kept it to themselves. Everyone's thinking though, seemed to be about the same:

It was hard-pressed to find young people like him nowadays.

They marveled at his sheer tenacity, finding themselves growing fond of this boy, many despite the fact that they had never spoken to him. They took a small pride in seeing him run past, some allowing a small smile as they sipped their morning coffee. Perhaps he reminded them of a time when they were like him too, so young and full of drive. Many of the neighbors even went to his mother, talking and laughing about how he was the inspiration for them to start a gym membership. They told her that she should be proud of her son, which she smiled and told them that, of course, she was.

Kaidoh himself, however, took in very little of the admiration that his neighbors shined onto him. He said only enough to be polite, bowing his head silently if he happened to pass by one of them on the street. To him, acknowledgment and praise were only worthy when it came from the people who had earned _his_; and while Kaidoh knew his neighbors were perfectly nice people, they simply didn't know him enough to be able to flatter him. Even when they complimented his sparkling new tennis regular's jacket, he only murmured a "thank you", and kept running.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Review! ^.^<strong>


	3. Fuji Syusuke

The teacher wrote another stoichiometry equation on the chalkboard.

"…three moles of Helium gas. A mole of any gas occupies a space of 22.4 liters, so using that to convert…"

My pen flitted across the page as I took careful notes. During a brief pause, I glanced out the newly polished window I was next to, and I had a wide view of the school grounds, sparkling clean and scrubbed for a new school year. I noticed that they'd planted a new row of cherry blossom trees, each sapling carefully tied to a wooden pole for support. Their elders stood tall and rigid above the new generation, whose thin limbs rebelled against the wind and the wooden poles.

_I wonder if they're old enough to blossom this year, _I mused.

The edge of a piece of notebook paper sliced across my finger, and a small gasp bubbled to my lips. I glanced down at the vivid line of red. The blood slowly welled up.

_Baka_, I scoffed at myself.

"Fuji-kun, would you mind telling us how many grams of methane are required to react with 18.5 moles of oxygen gas according to this equation?"

_Maybe this is karma for not paying attention. _

"You would multiply the oxygen gas by the mole ratio and molar mass…"

_This will take forever to heal. _

"…so finally, the amount of methane required is 29.4 grams."

_I need a band aid. _

Heads turned to my direction and whispers broke out through the classroom.

"Holy shit…"

"Of course, it's Fuji Syus—"

"I mean, he's a genius…"

"—I didn't even get what she was asking, and he just…"

"—did it all in his head!"

"…genius…"

"That's my Fuji-_sama_!"

The teacher shushed the chorus of admiring whispers.

"That is correct. Very good, Fuji-kun." She flashed an approving smile to me and turned to face the class again. I could see in my peripheral vision some girls who were still trying to catch my eye.

_Genius._

Ever since I entered Seigaku, that one word seemed to define my life—it followed me, labeled me; glorified my _being_ as someone you could expect everything from.

_What can't geniuses do? _

I stared down at my bleeding finger. _They can't stop karma, for one thing, _I thought, and it brought a wry smile to my face.

I didn't think that people understood—that whatever I had been given, I had lost things too.

Yuuta, for one. The months after he left, no one knew that I almost couldn't bear to play tennis, because it filled me every time with raw guilt and grief. How could he have coped with being the "little brother", being the tempered, spirited teenager that he was? No one understood that. Every time he called home, I saw the way my mother clutched at the phone, as if she was afraid that if she let go, that her Yuuta would disappear with it too. No one knew how much that had killed me.

I warred with myself those months. In the beginning, I blamed my classmates, for their expectant whispers. For dumping their expectations for _me _onto _him_. Then I blamed myself, simply for being who I was. And now, almost a year later, I had convinced myself that if Yuuta could let it go, it was time for me to do the same.

But I still hadn't forgiven myself. Not quite yet.

Inhaling deeply, I turned back to the window and stared out into space, looking over the cherry blossom trees and—

I spotted the lights first. Tall, silver poles arranged around in a long rectangle. And then it occurred to me what it was, and I smiled. A warm wave of familiarity washed over my body, like a hot shower after a run in the rain.

_Tryouts start this afternoon…_

And I realized how much I had missed every square inch of my second home.

That's right—tennis was the thing that had given me that _name_. The "genius". And also from tennis did I find the strength to shoulder it. What tennis had given me, could outweigh anything.

The bell rang for the end of class, and still drifting in my own thoughts, I reached out and picked up my notes, forgetting about my bleeding paper cut…

The blood instantly stained through the paper.

It had to be karma.


	4. Tezuka Kunimitsu

I carefully printed another name into a box for division A, recapping the pen as I scanned through the entire page again. Discreetly, I flexed my hand, which was slightly cramping after completing most of the pre-season paperwork.

Before me laid an entire list of names—almost fifty hopefuls trying out for the Seigaku tennis club. Another stack besides it consisted of hasty, last minute notes (courtesy of Kikumaru losing my original ones) for some of the more notable players, and a third stack besides that, the mostly completed charts for tryout divisions.

Except for one problem.

"I say you give him a chance, Tezuka," Oishi said, perched on the desk besides mine. "You saw him yourself—I think his level is enough to be on-par with most of the regulars. That's extremely rare for just a first year…"

"The question is whether he is mature enough to handle the responsibilities with becoming a regular," I said straight-forwardly, slowly straightening up from my writing position.

Ryuzaki-sensei chuckled from where she sat, and Oishi and I turned to look at her. She was smiling knowingly to herself and shifting through some papers.

"Must run in the family. I gave Ryoma's father twenty years to grow up, and the idiot still hasn't managed to do it." She shook her head a little, but was still smiling.

"You know Echizen's father?" Oishi asked curiously. Ryuzaki-sensei didn't say anything, but looked up at me, her voice more serious.

"Don't overthink it, Tezuka. Understand what this team needs and go with your instinct."

I lowered my gaze once again at the last empty box for division D, a knot of something akin to frustration settling in my gut. How could I know whether or not to _trust_ my instincts?

I glanced out the room's windows into a pink and lavender sky, wispy orange clouds suspended dreamily in midair. I remembered that I had a test on the nitrogen cycle tomorrow.

"Ryuzaki-sensei?" I asked, turning back to the chart.

"Hmm?"

"Do you think Echizen should be allowed to try out?" If she told me yes, then that settled the matter; if she didn't…

Ryuzaki-sensei set down her pen and studied me for a second. Then, slowly, she broke into a small, shrewd smile.

"That's for the captain to decide." Her eyes flashed towards Oishi before standing up with a scrape of her chair, picking up the stack of papers she had been working on. "Well, I've got to head home now, will you boys be alright?"

"Actually…" Oishi started, looking at me guiltily. "I'm sorry, Tezuka, but I have to be home too…unless you really need me here…"

I shook my head and stood up. Perhaps I could think through this more clearly if I was alone.

"I will be fine, thank you for staying this long. I will see you tomorrow, Ryuzaki-sensei, Oishi." I bowed slightly towards them, and Oishi returned it, smiling.

"Don't stay too late, Tezuka."

The door smoothly slid closed behind them, and a tranquil silence filled the room.

I sat back down, reaching towards the pile of notes to pick up Echizen's again. Every time my thoughts fell on him, I couldn't help but remember back, to two years ago.

When I was just like him.

I remembered the anticipation, the tight nervousness that raced through my body, which I had to contain myself not to show. I remembered how everyone whispered and doubted about me, unwilling to accept my age and my abilities.

So now we've come full circle.

I had almost left the tennis team my first year, so disgusted and tired at the unfairness with which I had been treated. And now, it dawned onto me that I was really debating with myself about the same thing. So many times over the course of the past few years, I had wondered: If I was Yamato-buchou then, would I have given myself that chance? Would I have done what he did, so readily accepted and acknowledged? _Could _I?

Here was my chance for an answer.

I thought about what Ryuzaki-sensei had just told me:

_"Understand what this team needs and go with your instinct."_

What this team needs—what we need to win Nationals.

Determination. Willpower. Teamwork. Sacrifice.

But I didn't have the time to examine Echizen and see if he had all these qualities. I had to decide _now_.

_"…go with your instinct."_

Was _instinct_ what this had to come down to? But then again, what else was I left with? I had tried analyzing, logically weighing the consequences if this backfired somehow, making list after list in my head…

_"The chosen regulars will probably be the ones to play in the Kanto Tournament…"_

_ "Oishi-kun, let's definitely lead Seigaku to the Nationals in our time!"_

_ Nationals. _

I replayed my memories of Echizen: his form, playing style, attitude, and what little I knew of his personality.

And all of a sudden, I was twelve again, and it was that year just before official tennis tryouts began…

_I was about to turn a corner around the school building when I heard a person's voice on the other side. _

_ "…that little first year isn't much a chatterbox." I couldn't tell who was talking. _

_ "He talks enough to call out the score…and isn't that enough?" I recognized this as Yamato-buchou's voice, and the realization that they were talking about _me_ sent a shudder up my spine. _

_ "Yeah, well, it's making Sugiyama and Kato as pissed off as my chem teacher, that time he found out we were drinking coffee out of crucibles…and what about you? You're usually always so gung-ho about teamwork…"_

_ There was a little silence before a reply came from the captain. _

_ "Wouldn't you much rather have a person who works than talks? And I am appalled that you wouldn't know any better than to drink out of potentially toxic equipment, if I was your teacher I would have given you dete—"_

_ "That's besides the point, buchou!" the other person sighed. "And don't try to change the subject! What makes you so sure Tezuka's got it in him?"_

_ "I can see it." There were a few seconds of expectant silence, and then another exasperated sigh as the captain did not elaborate. _

_ "But how do you _know_?" _

_ "It's there," Yamato-buchou mused matter-of-factly. "Instinct, my dear friend."_

I picked up the pen again and held down the chart with one hand. On the very last box, the only one that was still missing, I printed his name.

越前 リョーマ

_"I want you to become Seigaku's pillar of support."_

I pushed the paper away and set the pen back down.

_Thanks, buchou._

* * *

><p><strong>Um, if you haven't figured it out already, the Japanese means "Echizen Ryoma"<strong>

**I always figured Tezuka actually had a heart somewhere in him, not just the dusty lump of coal his personality would have you believe... ^.^"**

**Review please!**


	5. Inui Sadaharu

_ Height: 151 cm_

_ DOB: 12/24_

_ Weight: 50 kg_

_ Dominant hand: Left_

_ Play style: All-rounder_

Two hours slowly ticked by as the pages filled with scrawling blue ink. Graphs, calculations, analyses—

"_Tennis has no data."_

_ What nonsense_, I thought to myself.

That arrogant little first year might have scraped a win this time, but it's _far_ from over. After playing him, I now had essentially all the data I needed for future matches...there's no great loss without some small gain.

I punched some numbers into my calculator and recorded them meticulously into a graph I had made.

"To hit to that angle he must reduce his speed by 29.6502%, which means that gives me 1.0064 seconds before I must reach the ball…" I muttered to myself. Already, I had drawn up a personal workout schedule to increase my speed and stamina. Next time, _I must not have weaknesses_.

_Thirty one days until the next interschool ranking matches. _

Entering in a final figure in my graph, I leaned back to stretch my legs—noticing movement outside on the balcony. On closer inspection, it was a little brown sparrow, taking careful hops here and there and occasionally pecking at the ground for nonexistent crumbs.

Suddenly, a loud car horn rudely blasted through the quiet streets, and the sparrow froze in place. Its feet were placed roughly 2.5 cm apart, and it swiveled its 3 cm head to the left.

"Chance of going left, 96%," I muttered confidently.

To my utter surprise, the sparrow hopped to face the other direction and flew away into the gold colored sky. A flaming red sun was low in the horizon.

_Approximately 10.36 minutes until sunset_, I couldn't help but thinking, before straightening up in my chair and trying to shake off the disgruntled feeling. My little miscalculation dropped like a bar of lead into my stomach...

_"Data tennis…"_

His hazel eyes flashed sharply in my mind.

_"How annoying."_

I slammed my notebook shut as the afternoon replayed itself in fast motion.

_Twist serve…cross-court lob…volley…fault…ace…winner…forehand…forehand…data…calculate…think Sadaharu think think think THINK…_

_"7 games to 5, Echizen!"_

Slowly, I stood up and walked to the side of my bed, staring down at the—

I really hadn't meant to bring it back with me. It was one of those unsaid rules in the Seigaku tennis club that everyone followed with mutual compliance. But somehow, my hands had perfunctorily slipped it into my bag like always, somehow deciding on their own that they didn't want to break the drilled-in routine.

I reached down and smoothed the surface of the fabric, a solid white except for three words printed crisply in block letters.

S E I G A K U

TENNIS CLUB

A hard lump jumped up in my throat, corking in a rising flood of emotions coming straight from the center of my chest. I tried to press them down, knowing that I could not—_must_ not—let emotions get in my way. They made things complicated and irrational and _unpredictable_. All goals are an equation: how much effort and how much you sacrifice is how much you will receive in the end. That was the way it should be. So at a time like this, I couldn't afford to have _emotions_ added into the mix, with their exceptions and asymptotes and shifting phases. All I had to do was keep in focus and work hard. That was what I had always told myself.

But after that match, it took so much more repeating before I saw the sense in it.

_Brrring…brrring._

The screen of my cellphone lit up as it played my ringtone. I set the jacket carefully back on my bed and picked up the cell.

_New call from Oishi_, it read. My insides curled a little…I already had a vague sense of how the conversation was going to go. I considered not picking up—but that would imply to everyone that I had let that one little loss get to me. I couldn't have them thinking that.

So I inhaled deeply, composed myself, and put the phone to my ear.

"Hello?"

"_Inui!_" A hyper, very familiar voice called out my name.

"…Eiji?" I asked, trying not to sound confused. "Are you using Oi—"

"Hi, Inui." Now it was Oishi's voice. "We're very sorry to bother you, but Eiji and I were talking, and we decided to put you on three-way to—"

"—make sure you're OK!" Eiji interrupted.

_What is this feeling…_

"Don't worry about me," I said, my voice a little choppy. "I'm fine. Really."

_This warmth…_

There was a three second silence, very uncharacteristic of the Eiji I knew.

"You're still part of the team, Inui, no matter what." It was finally Oishi who spoke. "You always will be, maybe just not wearing a jersey for a little while until the next interschool matches—"

"And Oishi and Tezuka came up with this great idea!" Eiji interjected loudly. "Tell him Oishi!"

"Well, Tezuka and I were thinking…if we really want to improve this year, we're going to need lots of special training…and considering the fact that everyone on our team is different, we'll need—"

"—Data." I was thanking my lucky stars they couldn't see me right now, standing in the middle of my room and grinning stupidly from ear to ear.

"_Exactly!_" Eiji cried enthusiastically. "And no one's spied—I mean, uh, no one knows more about us than you!"

And at that moment, I saw it so vividly it was like having a vision:

Standing in the stadium, surrounded by a whole world of roaring applause and flashing lights.

Suspended in the cocoon of time and the cries of my teammates.

"_We won!"_

"_We won!"_

"_WE WON NATIONALS!"_

The giant silver cup that was now ours.

"Inui?" Oishi's voice snapped me back to my own bedroom, a universe away.

"Oh, um—what?" Eiji huffed a sigh.

"Were you listening at all? We need your data to get us to _Nationals_!"

How paradoxical it was, to have the mention of data bring the chocking emotion back into my throat.

"So will you be our team manager, Inui?" Oishi asked, but I knew that he already knew my answer.

We are teammates, after all.

"Of course I will."

"_Yes!_" Eiji whooped. "Nothing's gonna stop us this year! On three—one…"

I breathed out slowly, drinking in the presence of my friends, letting the sensation wash over me, just this one time.

"…two…"

It felt good.

"…three!"

"_SEIGAKU!_"


	6. Echizen Ryoma

"Listen up, all of you! Momoshiro, shut up and pay attention!"

Ryuzaki sensei turned to the eight of us, hands on her hips in an I-mean-business fashion. She cleared her throat and whipped out a piece of paper.

"This is the registration form for the district preliminaries! These will be our first matches of the season—and, of course, the first step to reaching Nationals." She paused a second to examine our faces. The room was silent, everyone waiting.

"We'll be playing against Gyokurin, and don't underestimate them. They're good tennis players. But we're not the number one seed for nothing." Something in her eyes glowed. "It's our job to be better."

Next to me, Momo senpai chuckled, clenching and unclenching his fist. From the front of the room, Inui senpai spoke, his nose buried in his notebook.

"We have a 98.52% of winning overall, based on the players' statistics and the data of our previous matches. Of course, the player order is very important, but within reasonable margin of error for my calculations, we should still have no problem winning. Because this is our first match, we are required to play all five games, so I have accounted for all the scenarios. Five to zero in our favor has the highest percentage, meaning our advantage over Gyokurin is significant—"

"Unless you bore us all to death right now, Inui," Kikumaru senpai yawned, arms stretched out over his head. The room chuckled, and Oishi fukubuchou murmured something reprimanding. Inui senpai looked up from his notebook, glasses flashing.

"Interesting hypothetical, Kikumaru…if to judge by the approximation of limiting fac—"

"Yes, yes, that's wonderful, Inui," Ryuzaki sensei interrupted dryly, prompting a snicker from Momo senpai. She went on, "Now, as you all know, you are to arrive tomorrow morning at promptly the scheduled time or else we will be disqualified..."

"Hey, Echizen." Momo senpai elbowed me. "When are we gonna tell the hag…you know—" He grinned. "Bet Inui senpai didn't think of _that_ in his calculations."

"Hm." I allowed a brief smirk. "Are you sure she's going to agree to it?" Momo senpai shrugged.

"I'd say fifty-fifty, did you read your horoscopes th—"

"Momoshiro, Echizen! Stop talking immediately or go take ten laps!" Tezuka buchou barked.

"Y-yes buchou…" Momo senpai grimaced and faced forward again, but kept murmuring under his breath. "I swear to Buddha, buchou needs like a cheeseburger or a girlfriend or something…

I smirked and faced forward again.

* * *

><p>"You. Two. Are. Playing. Doubles. <em>Doubles<em>."

Kikumaru senpai's eyes were the size of tennis balls as they flickered between me and Momo senpai; he seemed to be hanging on the hope that we'd say it was all a joke. When we didn't, he threw up his hands.

"This is crazy. You guys are absolutely _crazy_."

"Thank _you_ for thinking so highly of us, Eiji senpai," Momo senpai sighed dramatically. "But we're pretty confident in this, right Echizen?"

"Hm." Kikumaru senpai shot me a wide-eyed look of distain. A distance off behind him on one of the benches, Oishi fukubuchou was bent over his tennis bag, looking like he was about to dive into it. After a while of fumbling he straightened up, scratched his head, and looked towards us.

"Eiji!" he called. "Have you seen—?"

"You put it in the side pocket of my bag!" Kikumaru senpai replied instantly, not taking his eyes away from us. Oishi fukubuchou promptly began diving into another bag, and moments later, pulled out a roll of grip tape.

"There it is—thanks!"

Momo senpai let out a low whistle.

"So 'Golden Pair' isn't a joke, hun? It's like you guys can read each other's minds!"

It occurred to me then to point out to him that saying that wasn't helping our case very much—but thankfully Ryuzaki sensei chose at this time to call everyone over for a pre-match pep talk. Momo senpai and I turned to start walking over towards the courts, when Kikumaru senpai suddenly said,

"Remember 'we'." I looked back at him questioningly. His face was set in a serious expression. "During the match, no 'I', 'me', 'you'. If there's a problem, '_WE_' fix it. Got it?"

He fixed a stern gaze at the both of us, uncharacteristically grim. Something in that glint in Kikumaru senpai's eyes stopped the brash comment I was going to make, as I realized that this was his way of teaching us how to win.

"Thanks," I finally said, turning back around. "We'll remember that." I heard him chuckle after a moment, and felt a light punch on my shoulder.

"Go and win out there, ochibi, Momo!" he cheered, back to his normal self.

"Oh we will…" Momo senpai grinned and stepped towards the courts, murmuring something barely audible over the cracking of his knuckles:

"Wouldn't be good to break promises…wouldn't be good at all…"


	7. Kawamura Takashi

I lay on my back in the middle of the room, staring up into the blank white ceiling. My chest heaved as sweat poured down my face, and every breath stung the aching muscles that had become part of my daily routine.

Gritting my teeth, I pushed myself up against the protest of my exhausted body, and reached for the twenty pound dumbbells once more.

_1…2…3…4…_

A wave of scorching pain seared through my right arm—instinctively, I grabbed it, gasping at the sudden, piercing agony. The dumbbells fell to the ground with a thundering _thud_.

A few seconds later, the pain slowly ebbed away to a dull throbbing in my right wrist. I massaged it slowly, praying that it wouldn't have any effect on my game tomorrow in the district preliminaries.

"Takashi?"

I turned and saw my dad standing hesitantly at my door, his lined face heavy with worry. "I heard some noise…" His gaze fell to my right arm, which I was still holding, and then to the dumbbells that lay on the ground.

"Did you hurt yourself?" he asked softly.

"It's nothing," I reassured him quickly, "just a little overexertion, that's all."

My dad eyed me apprehensively, almost as if he was deciding whether or not to believe me. Finally, he gave a little sigh.

"I'll get you some ice." Then he turned and disappeared down the stairs.

Sighing, I sank down onto my bed and rubbed my sore muscles, hating that they had made my dad worry about me—but at the same time, proud of them. With each weight lifted, each push-up, I knew that I was getting stronger.

I thought about Fuji and his ingenious triple counters; Tezuka buchou's zero-shiki drop shot; Inui's data, Kikumaru's acrobatics—and even the new first year Echizen's twist serve. How could I let myself fall behind all of them, even with their extra talents and abilities?

I looked down at my arm: contoured with rolling muscles and thick, heavy veins that ran down its length.

_Without this, what do I have?_

I heard my dad's sandals clanking up the steps again as he reappeared. He handed me an ice pack wrapped in a thin towel, and placed a new bottle of water on my desk.

"Thanks, oyaji." I pressed the ice pack against my right wrist, noticing that it had a slight fishy smell to it. "Did you have this in with the fish?"

"Uh…" My dad gave a sheepish grin and nervously scratched the back of his head. "Yeah…sorry about that, kid."

"It's fine," I chuckled.

I glanced at the alarm clock at the head of my bed—it was already 10:45.

"You should really go to bed, oyaji," I told him. Normally at this time, he was already fast asleep and snoring the roof down.

"Well, I—uh, actually…" he cleared his throat nervously. I hadn't seen him this jumpy in a long time. "…I actually wanted to talk to you."

He sat down on my bed, twisting the corner of his apron anxiously with his tanned, calloused hands. I waited, tense.

"OK," he finally sighed, letting go of the apron. "I just wanted to say that I notice things too, you know…I see how much you're training and pushing yourself. I can hear you swinging your racket for hours on end, and doing push-ups every night…and how you accidentally cut yourself making sushi the other day—I know that wasn't just a careless mistake."

I threw a glance down at my bandaged finger, recalling how the overworked muscles in my hand just gave out while I was cutting sashimi.

_I'm sorry, oyaji. I'm so sorry for making you worry. _

"I'm not gonna beat around the bush with you, Takashi."

_About what?_ As I looked up, the corners of his eyes crinkled.

"I just wanted to tell you that you don't have to quit tennis. I don't want you to have to give up anything for your old man's sushi shop."

The two of us sat there, looking at each other, one putting a lifetime of hard work on the line so that the other could have the option to choose. No matter how much I looked at it, no matter how much I knew I loved tennis and playing tennis and living it—I loved my father more. I couldn't be so selfish as to let myself chase a dream that was never meant to be in the first place.

I stared down at the dumbbells on the ground, and then to my tennis racket leaning against the wall. I knew my answer, had been preparing to give it for such a long time—but why couldn't I _say it_?

Finally, I took a breath and slid the ice pack off of my wrist. It felt numb now, but I wasn't sure how much it would hurt later on.

"No, dad."

_How could I? _I wanted to tell him, but instead I just smiled.

"This'll be my last year of tennis."

* * *

><p><em>"The doubles two match between Seishun Gakuen and Fudomine will now begin! Players please step onto the court!"<em>

Fuji turned to me with his ever-present smile, radiating his usual confident composure.

"I still don't think this is a very good idea…" I mumbled to him nervously. I wanted him to agree—wanted his smile to falter, and for him to nod his head and suggest that we talk to Ryuzaki sensei.

But I knew that I might as well could have wished for the Earth to stop being round.

Not uttering a word, Fuji stooped down, unzipped my tennis bag, and thrust a racket into my hand. His smile grew wider as he watched me and nodded contently.

"That's much better."

**. . . . .**

"Game point, Seigaku!"

"_Come on!_" I pumped my fist euphorically, and high-fived Fuji. I was _sure_ that we could win this—I could feel it in my very bones.

"I'm counting on you, partner."

I looked sideways at the tennis prodigy, face covered in a sheen of sweat but radiating excitement and anticipation.

"GREAT!" I grinned at him. "We are going to _win_!"

On the other side of the court, Ishida rolled up one of his sleeves and mumbled something to his partner.

_Is he plotting something…?_

I shook it off and leaned down to a ready position. The serve was hit, and then a sharp crosscourt angle, and then—

It happened all at once.

Ishida pulled his arm back, his feet wide apart—

I could see the triumphant glow of his eyes—

_ "HADOUKYUU!"_

Without knowing how, I knew Fuji was going to try and hit it—giving up wasn't something we were good at.

_"Fuji, move!"_

Without thinking, reaction and instincts jumbling together with logic—I jumped in front of the hadoukyuu…

_"AAH…GREAT!"_

The spot in my right wrist burst into flames…but I returned it.

"Seigaku, five games to three!"

"YEAH!"

Adrenaline pumping through my body, I whirled around to give Fuji a high-five; but instead found him walking towards me with a grave expression. "Wha—?"

Before I could react, he reached out and grabbed my right wrist, holding it tightly.

I gasped and hunched over at the intensified, burning pain—but I could continue the match, we were so close, _don't stop the match Fuji!_

"You blocked it for me." His blue eyes were piercing and calm, and in a louder voice, he called to the referee, "This match—"

"No!"

"—we forfeit."

"Fuji!" I grabbed his arm desperately. "What are you doing? I can still play! You know how much this first match means to us…!"

But as I looked at his face, my better judgment resurfaced, and I knew it was useless. I hung my head as disappointment engulfed me like a cold draft.

I felt Fuji's hand on my shoulder, supportive and reassuring.

"It'll be alright."

_But everyone…_I glanced over at the players' bench towards my teammates, and noticed something sparkle in their eyes: Kikumaru gave me a _"Good job"_ wink; Tezuka buchou nodded his head once, as if in approval of something; and Echizen's normally bored expression had turned to one of almost excitement.

_Well, I tried. _I smiled back to everyone sheepishly.

And now, all I could do was have trust in my teammates.


End file.
